


Nocturne in E major

by pocketsfullofmice



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, Female Masturbation, alana gives will nudie photos, also a slight wonderfalls crossover, blink-and-you'll-miss-it will/matthew, episode 5 AU just fyi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 19:31:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1399777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketsfullofmice/pseuds/pocketsfullofmice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe she could frame it as a bizarre form of therapy. Maybe she could frame it as conjugal visits in a facility that doesn't permit it. </p><p>Or maybe, Alana could just admit to herself that she's taking naked photos of herself and giving them to an incarcerated man that she has feelings for. </p><p>But damn does her ass look good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nocturne in E major

**Author's Note:**

> Faint AU for episode 5, though I suppose it could fit in a bit of time fuckery. 
> 
> Whoo whoo all aboard the female masturbation train.

She focuses on the sound of her heels on the concrete, trying to keep her breathing in time with them. Her heart is pounding hard in her head, and Alana swears that if she were to look at her reflection, she'd be able to see her pulse in her temples. Turning a corner, adjusting the strap of her bag as it slips off her shoulder, she steps in front of the gate and waits for Matthew to buzz her through.

She starts to silently count back from ten in French. It's a strange habit, and one she picked up from her Québécois housekeeper as a child. She wished some days that she'd been able to keep it up, but between her medical units at college, her internship and finally her professional workload, it had slipped away. 

Taking a deep breath, Alana settles herself. It's all a distraction. Her mind is screaming at her that this is a bad idea, but for some reason she's going ahead with it. She smiles as Matthew opens the gate for her, the beep forcing her thoughts temporarily away, and steps through. Her hand lingers on her bag, her fingers running over the teeth of the zip. 

'How's Rupert?' she asks as way of hello. 

With her job placing her within the hospital at various points, Alana's come to know the majority of the staff. Matthew's a little odd, but so are many of the long-term staff at the hospital. She really can't blame him; he'd been living with his terminally ill grandmother for several years, and after she'd died six months ago, he'd never bounced back. Adopting a shelter puppy seems to have helped.

'Still eating the foam from the couches,' Matthew replies. His lisp tends to come back when she speaks to him; Alana has her theories why, but she never thinks too much about them. 'I don't know what to do.'

'Maybe you should ask Will,' she says, nodding to one of the guards as they walk by. 'I'm sure he'd appreciate having something to talk about, beyond...'

Matthew smiles at the idea. 'Maybe.'

'I'll ask him about it.'

They start down the stairs, Alana's hand slipping into her bag. She feels the manilla folder, her fingers sliding over the paper within. She doesn't need to do this. She's not really gaining anything, and she has no idea if it'll help Will at all. And if either of them were to get caught-

Well, Chilton would have a field day.

'Do not pass anything but soft paper. No pens, no pencils. Do not accept anything he gives you.'

Matthew pauses in his recitation to look over his shoulder at Alana who hurries behind. She's heard it before. She'll hear it again, next time she visits Will, or any of her other patients- not that Will's her patient. Matthew has to say it, and she has to listen. Hospital protocol.

'Do not let him touch you- '

'And I'm not allowed to touch him,' she finishes for him as they come to a stop by the glass door. She meets Matthew's eyes and gives the same smile she gives her patients. Distant, yet kind.

'It's for your own safety,' he says, as though it's an apology. 'And his.'

'I understand, Matthew.'

She looks away as he jabs in the code to the door. Again, she counts back from ten, focusing on the sounds her housekeeper used to make, her accent. In the corner of her eye, she can see Will's shadow along the wall, blending in with the bars on the old window. There's a grinding buzz and Matthew steps aside to open the door for her.

'I'll be outside,' he says with a nod.

Alana breezes into the room with barely a glance. She can hardly breathe now. She feels almost as terrified as she did the day she presented her first journal article to Hannibal for review (and it's strange how she votes that as being far more nerve wracking than Will breaking into her house after escaping from a prison van). Sitting opposite him, taking only a moment to pause at the sight of his cuffed hands as she always does, she smooths her skirt and pulls the chair forward.

'How are you, Will?'

She always asks that. No need for greetings, no need to establish a formal communication. Her concern is always his well being.

'I have no idea.'

And there's his response. Guttural, as though he needs to pull the words out from deep within his chest.

Resting her bag on her lap, Alana continues to run her fingers over the file, continuing to hesitate. She could back out. Will would be able to sense she wasn't doing or saying something, but he wouldn't be able to prove what. 

'I spoke to Dr Chilton,' she says, after a lengthy pause she didn't want to break. Will's browse raise in curiousity, but he waits for her to continue. She licks her lips and swallows, slowly pulling out the file. 'He has approved my request that you be allowed to put some pictures up in your cell. He said you can have four. I took the liberty of- of taking some for you to choose from.'

The number's arbitrary. There's no reason for only four photos; it's just Chilton's way of keeping Will under his thumb.

Outside the room, a guard approaches Matthew. Alana slides the file over, unable to hide her shaking hands. She catches Will looking at them, and he takes the photos out without opening the folder itself. 

The top image is a group shot of the dogs. Most of the dogs are looking at the camera, though Winston had turned his head at the last minute and his face is nothing but a blur. His snout had knocked into one of the smaller dog's head. Applesauce had bounded up, her teeth bared in a growl. It had been the best shot out of ten, and Alana had given up after that. 

Will smiles at the photo, a laugh on his lips that doesn't sound. His thumb caresses over the two blurry faces, and the sadness in his expression disappears for just a moment. He lingers on the image, and goes to set it aside, when Alana clears her throat. He looks up at her, brows knitting together, before he picks it back up and slides it at the bottom of the pile. She nods and looks away.

The next photo is of Winston only. His tongue is out, and his gaze is off of the camera, his eyes on Alana's hand that is out of the picture, holding out a treat. Will might have trained Winston well, but his tricks were limited to 'sit' and 'no, don't eat that'. Will smiles, showing his teeth, and his thumb brushes over the picture again, as though he could actually feel Winston's short, rough fur through the image.

He takes his time with the pictures. He's quiet and methodical, taking all of them in. Alana watches him as his eyes move from the focus of the image- the dogs, his house at night, a wide-lens capture of New Orleans- to the background. Every time he moves onto the next image, it's with a sense of reluctance. He can transport himself into the picture, live there for several minutes. He's not trapped within the concrete walls of the hospital. 

The hammering in Alana's chest continues, her muscles tense, and she wants to rip the photos from him, shuffle through them and give him four. Glancing over to the door, she watches as Matthew turns to talk to a fellow orderly. Just as he does, she hears Will move to another photo. 

Nothing really changes but the room is suddenly quieter. She's not sure if it's hot or cold, but she starts to sweat, heat rising to her cheeks at the same time she becomes dizzy. Her eyes slide away from the glass to the corner of the room. There's a faint, wet sound as Will opens his mouth, as though to speak, but the only thing that comes out is a slightly aborted _huh_. She dares to look at him, just for a second. His eyes are stuck on the photo, and there's a faint tremor in his hands. Again, he makes that wet sound, and he clears his throat, lets out a _hm_ and shifts a little in his seat.

Earlier, upstairs, Alana had spoken to Chilton. She'd given him almost all the photos, more as a precaution than anything. He'd flicked through them, bored, and passed them back before telling her Will could keep four only and let her go. As she'd made her way past the staff she'd slipped the ninth photo in. 

It's not that bad. It could have been worse. But she could lose, maybe not necessarily her job, but her reputation over it. She would be shamed for it. But something in her had compelled her to do it anyway. Something had compelled her to strip off the night before and pull out her barely-worn matching pale blue bra and briefs, with the small black lace trim and set up her camera on the dresser.

Alana doesn't have sexy underwear. She has sensible underwear and then she had slightly less sensible underwear, which she categorises as date underwear. Underwear she rarely wears, and is almost as pristine as the day she'd bought it. And there she is, laying on her bed, with her hair slightly messy from the day's activities and her eye make-up somewhat smudged, and she's somewhat bloated because she'd had reheated pizza for breakfast that morning. There are indents on her shins from where her boots had pressed in and marks on her ankles from her socks, and the underwear pinchesher waist and the bra cups are slightly small, and the photo isn't really sexy-

Or maybe it is, because as she turns to Will, she sees the flush on his cheeks and the way he swallows, and he moves slightly in a way that reminds her of her former college boyfriend. The way he'd do it when she'd slip her shoe off and run her bare foot over his ankle and smile coquettishly.

Will's eyes don't move. He's frozen on the image, his tongue occasionally flicking out to run over his lips. His jaw twitches, and Alana watches as he bites and sucks on his lips, his thumb hovering over the image. He wants to touch it; she can tell, from the way he treated the other images, that he wants to run his thumb over the picture. She wonders what he'd touch first. 

He doesn't, though. When he lowers his thumb, it's to the side of the picture, pushing into the edge.

'You took all the photos?'

'Yes. I mean, no- '

Only then do his eyes lift. They dart up to her so fast it was almost like his gaze had never left her.

'Not all of them. Not of New Orleans. That one I took off Google. I've never been myself. But the rest... yes, I did.'

The corner of his lips twitch and he looks back down at the photo of her.

'And I can only keep four?'

'That's right.'

He won't take that picture. Even if he wants to, she'llsnatch it off him. It's too risky. It's risky enough that she dared to bring it in. 

Will lingers on it for a few seconds more. He may not have a photographic memory, but it's near perfect. He's taking in every line, every curve. The dip of her navel, the lock of hair that had fallen between her breasts. She's laying on her side with her hand tucked behind her ear, keeping her perched up. The position had been uncomfortable but had seemed the most natural. Her expression is less 'come hither' and more 'I wish you were here to fall asleep with'. She spent far too much time the night before looking over it.

It seems to take an age before he finally clears his throat, shifts one more time in his seat, and moves to the next photo.

Alana dares another look towards Matthew. He's leaning against the wall, eyes diverted. Her nerves have calmed, and though she can't hold a conversation with him, she can give halted explanations. She took photography in high school, and while the technology has changed, the concepts behind it haven't. Rule of thirds, that kind of thing. Her camera doesn't have a cap, and all she needs to do is push a button, but she's glad she can do something with it. She's glad she can do something for Will with it.

Eventually he chooses the photos he wants to keep- the first two of his dogs, an image of the lake by his house where he used to fish and a picture of a lush green field in California. Alana had taken the last one several years earlier, when she'd gone over for a conference and had a day free at the end. She doesn't know why Will chose it. Maybe an escape from everything else.

He slides the photos back into the manila file and passes it back to her. The handcuffs clink and it snaps Alana back into reality. They're in a room in a mental health facility for criminals. In her hand is a file that contains a photo of her in her delicates. Will had sat there, if not aroused then certainly interested, and stared at it. And though Alana had been a knot of anxiety earlier, she's not now.

'I'll let Dr Chilton know,' she whispers, her voice cracking as she slips the file into her bag. 

Standing, a smile on her lips, she pauses. The photos sit in front of Will, his nails digging into his palms. 

He wants to know if she'll come back.

He wants to know if she'll bring another photo.

'I have a two o'clock to make.'

It's not until she reaches her car that she realises she forgot to tell him about Matthew's dog.

*

Over the next few weeks she continues to visit him. They don't mention the photos, though when Alana stops by his cell, she sees the four photos he chose sticking up with tack. It's hard to tell if he's in a good mood, but Alana finally admits to herself that Will's eyes do brighten when he sees her now.

She asks him if there's anything she can get him. Will sighs and says he doesn't need anything, but after some gentle prodding, he admits he'd like something to read. In turn, she goes to his house, finds the most inoffensive books, and brings them back. All five have been read by the end of the week. She hates thinking that Will's resigned to being imprisoned, but it's only until the retrial. 

It's by chance that she gets asked to review a paper. It's only be chance that it happens to be based around insects and time of death. 

What she does next isn't by chance.

She brings up the paper to Chilton in a roundabout way, and he doesn't react to it. He's become slightly relaxed with Will being allowed comfort items, and Alana suspects it's because it loosens Will's tongue in therapy. Will and Chilton are using each other, and she's not sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing, but it's not her place to say and Will can shut her out as quickly as he shuts anyone out. She's not given special permissions because she's his friend. She saw what happened with Hannibal.

When her heels click on the floor this time, she's calmer. That's not to say she's not nervous- her heart pounds hard and her chest heaves as she takes the stairs. Matthew gives her his strange, two fingered salute as a hello and she nods her head.

'How's Rupert?'

'He's moved off the couches and onto chewing table legs. I'm calling it a progressive win.'

Alana smiles. As they near the privacy room, Matthew repeats the instructions as always and Alana looks away from the code as always and soon she's in with Will.

'How are you?'

'I'm not so sure.' There's a pause. Then, 'how are you?'

Setting her bag down, she reaches in and pulls out the paper. It's stapled in the right corner, the bundle looking more like booklet than anything else. He takes it with raised brows and waits for her to explain.

'I'm meant to review this. And I will,' she adds, a little hastily. 'But I thought you might want to have a copy of it.'

'Oh.' Will lowers his hands over the paper, looking somewhat confused. 'Thank you?'

He's confused and it's all Alana can do to bite her tongue and to tell him to _look_. She bites the inside of her cheek and counts backwards from ten and nods towards the paper. 

'I thought you might find it interesting... is all. Maybe you could have a quick look so I can give her some direct feedback?'

Will blinks slowly, his furrowed brow slowly loosening and lifts up the first page. It's been stapled so his hand hides the contents somewhat from outside view. It's not exactly foolproof, but it was all Alana could think of that morning. She can't bring in another pile of photos- that would be a pattern.

To his benefit, Will actually takes the time to quickly read each page. But she can see the twitch in his fingers, the desire to skip ahead. 

When he arrives on the fourth page, his back straightens. Almost as an afterthought, he tilts his head, forces his spine to crack, as though he's trying to get comfortable. His fingers dig into the page, and this time his thumb brushes just over the corner of the image, near her hair. He shifts the same as before and she hears his foot scrape along the floor.

This photo had been one of a series. Alana had deliberated over all of them, hesitated, and she still isn't sure she made the right choice. It's a little sexier than she likes, though nothing is really on display. She's facing the camera, wearing the same underwear set as before. Maybe, she thinks, she should buy another pair if this is going to be a trend. 

The strap is loose on the bra and hangs down her arm, her hair covering the other. One leg is drawn up, the other straight out, toes pointed. Her toenail polish is chipped, and there's a mosquito bite on her shin. Although her legs are more or less together, the angle of the light means the shadow of her hips are visible, that her bust seems far more prominent in the bra, even with it being slightly small. Her look is more sultry than intended. She hadn't expected the flash, and so her lips were parted when the photo was taken, her gaze slightly off. One of the dogs had been scratching at the door and had caught her attention.

Deep down she knows it's the best one of the lot, but she can't help but wonder if she ought to have chosen one that, well, covered more. Or better yet, cease entirely.

Will breathes in deeply and gives a slow hum. It almost sounds like a moan- a gentle, keening kind- and he slowly flips the pages back in place and slides the booklet over. His fingers linger on the cover and his mouth twitches. 

'You left the staple in. I won't be able to take it back to my cell.' He pauses and shifts. 'You could get in trouble.'

Alana can't help but be pleased. She picks out the staple and- after quickly looking up to check Matthew's turned away, slips the piece of paper out that contains her photo and shoves it in her bag. Handing the rest back, she folds her hands on the table. 

There's a steady, somewhat comfortable silence. A smile tugs on Will's lips, but it's a little weak, a little forced, like he can't remember how to do it. That's not unusual for Will, though.

'Why are you doing this?'

Although the questions unsurprising, it still takes Alana a moment to come up with a response.

'Would you rather I didn't?'

Will's lip twitches again. 'Answering a question with a question?'

Alana's expression softens and she stretches out her fingers. Will's own brush along hers, capturing them.

'I miss you,' she finally whispers. 'That's... that's not entirely accurate, but it's close. I miss the possibility of... of us. I know it can't be easy for you, and so I thought- I thought that this is something I can do...'

'Chilton's allowed me to have a pillow and blanket,' Will states, once it's clear Alana isn't going to continue. 'I've been making good use of it.'

The admission surprises Alana, though as she thinks about it, she supposes it's Will's way of exposing himself in much the same way the photos of herself have. He's putting them on a level playing field. Will memorises the photos and thinks about them. He thinks of her. He thinks of her in her underwear and he thinks about touching her in the way he longs to touch the photos.

It makes her feel good. 

She stays until she feels it would be awkward to stay longer. She wishes him good luck with his lawyer- they're focusing back on the case- and squeezes his hand as she gets up. This time she remembers to tell Will about Matthew's dog before she leaves. She wishes she could kiss him, but she can't; not with Matthew just outside the door. Not with a man facing charges that included cannibalism.

*

Part of it is the thrill. Alana accepts that as she rushes behind Matthew, her thoughts swirling as she pretends to pay attention to the instructions he gives her. She has the thick manila envelope clutched in a hand. Smiling as Matthew opens the door, she slips in and moves slowly the table.

Weeks have gone by. The trial is only a week away, and as she's meant to take the stand, most of her visits to Will have been with Leonard. Will never asks for a photo- it's almost as though it's taboo to talk about it directly, even when they are alone- but she occasionally catches him glancing at her bag with a mixture of curiousity and hope, and a touch of self loathing at wanting there to be something for him.

She does what she can. She gives Will magazines (with the staples removed), photos of the dogs, the occasional journal article (once again, all loose leaf). One time she brought a video she'd recorded of the dogs running, but that seemed to upset Will too much. She does genuinely care about him, but she wants to keep the guise up that she's never slipped him anything other than benign items.

This time she's alone. She knows Will's due to see Leonard that day, though she's uncertain when. Counting back from ten doesn't help, and she can't remember enough of her French to try it from fifty. 

Will's in a strangely chatty mood (that is, he says more than two sentences willingly), and she can tell it's because he's put off by the envelope. His eyes dart to the envelope and back up. Clearing his throat, he actually takes the initiative of gesturing to it with a finger. Alana licks her lips and breathes in slowly as she slides it over. Something about Will being so eager thrills her.

'With everything coming up- and the last trial having been...' She clears her throat as a way of saying _being a complete fuck up_. 'I thought you might like a few things to distract you. I mostly went through your house- I'm sorry, I know I should have asked. I didn't rummage, exactly, through your belongings, but I did go through a few albums.'

As Will opens the envelope, he raises a brow as he pulls out the piles of postcards, photos and holiday brochures. Alana's theory is that Will wouldn't have kept them if they hadn't met something. 

Also, she's running out of ideas on how to slip Will the photos.

She asks him questions on some of the items, mostly to keep the pretence of a conversation going. Matthew actually gives them privacy, as best he can, unlike some of the orderlies who watch them. She has no idea why, and she won't ask. But Alana wants this to seem as natural as possible, mostly for her own sake. Will's already found the edge of the photo, and his thumb flicks the corner as he goes through the pile of postcards from former colleagues and college friends he's long since lost touch with, photos of his dogs, past and present, a mountain resort he's probably gone to at some point. He's trying not to hurry and she's trying not to rush him.

' _Oh_ \- '

As he arrives at the photo, he loses his grip on part of the pile. It slips from his hands and he scurries to pick it all up. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Matthew turns his head, but it seems to be only for a second because by the time Will's steadied himself, he's back to resting against the wall. 

She's naked. Previously, she'd only lose her reputation. Now she could lose her job. 

All she'd been able to think about the night before had been the way Will had squirmed in his seat. That look in his eyes of wanting and hunger, the way he'd carefully caressed the paper print out, how his nostrils had flared and his tongue had run over his lips. His eyes had widened and his cheeks had turned pink and that noise he had made, how it had slipped out and he'd been unable to bring it back. 

It had been a long time. The past couple of months had left her exhausted and unable to think about doing anything. And yet she had kicked off her shoes and collapsed on her bed, her fingers already fussing with undoing her dress. She couldn't remember the last time she'd undressed in such a hurry, the last time she'd been so desperate to kick off his panties and toss her sensible bra across the room. 

When her fingers don't sate her, she reached inside her bedside dresser. It took some time to find her long-forgotten vibrator, her cunt throbbing and her hands shaking. The batteries inside were dead, and she ran through the house, jumping over the pile of dogs, and wound up pulling a pair from her TV remote to replace them. When she came, it was with Will's name on her lips and her face in the pillow, her leg twitching and a need for more. It was in that post-orgasm haze that she'd reached for the camera that sat atop the book she'd been slowly reading for months, set up the timer and waited for the flash to go off.

Will will be able to tell. As Alana watches his face, she sees his cheeks go from pink to red, the way he works his jaw, his eyes darting over the photo. 

Her face takes up most of the image, her eyes heavy-lidded, her lips red and swollen. Cheeks flushed, hair a mess and sticking to her brow. Will's eyes glance down, towards her nipples, pale pink and still perked from her own hand's assault. Her hand by her belly, fingers curled against her navel. She wonders if he can see the hint of slickness there, if he looks that closely. His own hand slides down the side of the photo, and his eyes dip inevitably to the thatch of hair between her legs, the curve of her thigh, where she's clearly wet. Just behind her leg, almost out of view, is the vibrator. Strangely, it's the only thing she regrets about having in the picture- poor decision making about bringing it aside.

She actually likes the way she looks in the picture. Her doe eyes and the wanting expression and the strange mixture of vulnerability and confidence. She's proud of her body and her sexuality, and when Will gets out- it's _when_ , not _if_ , because she believes in Will and she doesn't allow herself to not picture him getting out- she wants to share both with him. She wants to feel his body against hers, and she wants to kiss him and wake up with him and she wants the chance to hold his hand without having a metal cuff around it.

'Where do you print these?' he asks quietly. His voice is strained and there's a click in his throat.

'At home.'

Will's lips twitch and he gives a choked laugh. 'Smart.'

'I have a doctorate and everything.'

He's shifting in his seat. It's difficult to see, but Alana can hear it. The rub of rough cotton, the way his shoe slides along the floor. His jaw continues to twitch, and he gives a noise from the back of his throat. It sounds desperate.

'Alana- '

There's a noise outside. Matthew's pushed away from the wall and is walking towards someone Alana can't see. Will quickly hides the photo among the rest and shoves them back into the envelope just as Matthew steps backwards into view. He's somewhat animated, and his eyes blink towards Alana and Will. He jams in the door code and Leonard breezes past him, eyes lighting up at the sight of Alana. 

'Hey, happy to see you- I was actually going to call you in. Thanks, Matthew, you can leave,' he says breezily to the orderly. 

Alana watches him over Leonard's shoulder, and quickly looks back at the lawyer. She needs to get the envelope. She reaches for it, but Leonard quickly throws a pile of papers between them, grabs a chair, and starts talking. The chair scapes as he goes over the case, and when Alana makes a move to stand- she has to get out, she can't breathe, she has to get the envelope and _leave_ \- he encourages her to stay.

'It'll be good,' he says, 'to go over this with you one more time.'

The next half hour is excruciating. She can see the envelope, and it'll be easy to reach over to grab it, but she doesn't trust her hands to stop shaking, she doesn't trust her cheeks to stop blushing. When Leonard dismisses her- he wants to talk to his client privately- Alana's so ready to go that she's out the door without a thought. She knows she's left the envelope- it's right under Will's left hand- but there was no subtle way of getting it.

She just hopes Chilton doesn't find it.

*

Alana only sees Will twice more before the trial. Both times she's accompanied; once by Leonard, the second by Jack. She wants to ask about the photo, if he still has it, if she can get it back. This is an awful mess, and she feels sick to her stomach. By the trial, she's not sure what she's more afraid of- Will being found guilty (and all that entails) or Chilton (somehow) coming up to her while she's on the stand and asking what _that's_ all about.

But Chilton is nothing but coldly courteous. 

And Will's found not guilty. Not merely not guilty by reason of unconsciousness, but... not guilty. The evidence doesn't add up. The evidence was planted. Alana doesn't care why he's found not guilty, only that it means he's out.

Will is released. She doesn't go to him immediately. She calls late that evening and lets him know she's there, but she doesn't expect to hear from him. She doesn't. 

The following day, however, she receives a phone call from Chilton. Graham left some of this things behind and refuses to answer, would she mind coming to pick them up? Jack had apparently been in a hurry to have him go. With her heart pounding in her throat, Alana agrees and finds herself driving to the hospital.

When she arrives, Chilton's in therapy with a patient. Instead, she receives the envelope from one of the admin staff, and she stumbles away from the desk to check the contents. She rummages through, looking over the faded photographs of dogs and old houses, of the plot of land his house now sits on, brochures to holidays he'd probably dreamt of going on.

There's no photo of her anywhere. 

With shaking hands, she hurries to the door and looks back over the bundle, shaking her head. 

'No- '

Letting the hospital doors swing shut behind her, she stands at the top of the steps, staring at the bundle that doesn't contain her photo. 

'No, no, no- '

'Dr Bloom?'

Alana spins, startled, and stares at Matthew. His mouth twitches, as it always does when he approaches her, as though he's in on a joke she's not aware of. A wave of nausea crashes over her and she shoves everything into the envelope. Her hands refuse to work, and it takes several attempts before she can close it. It bulges in the centre.

'I apologise for sneaking up on you. It's a thing us orderlies develop. The patients are much more cooperative when they've had a good night's rest.'

'What can I do for you, Matthew?' She can't handle idle chit chat. Not right now.

'I have something for you.'

He reaches into his front pocket, where his name tag swings, and pulls out a tightly folded wad of thick paper. Holding it between his thumb and forefinger, he drops it on her outstretched hand.

'I think it might belong to you.'

Alana doesn't need to open it to know what it is, but she does all the same. She folds back a corner, sees her own eye looking back at her and quickly shoves it in her bag. Turning away, her cheeks burning red, she silently starts to count in French. Matthew continues to stand there, his head tilted to the side. She can barely hear his lisp, but it doesn't strike her as peculiar; she has too many things on her mind.

'He cut a hole in his mattress. It's going to be a bitch to sew up without Dr Chilton finding out.' 

Her eyes suddenly dart to him, confusion crossing them. Matthew's head rolls to the other side, and his lips form a smile.

'I knew what you were doing. I've had to stand there before while wives expose their tits. Thank you for your discretion. I never saw anything,' he adds quickly. 'But I kept people away, until that lawyer... I tried, but they pull rank and I wanted Will to get off.'

Alana doesn't comment on the double entendre. It's probably an accident.

'Why...?' she asks, shaking her head. 

'I like Will. I like you, too, but mostly I found Will...' Matthew pauses and squints, looking away from her and over the parking lot. 'Working here, you get shit thrown at you. Metaphorically and otherwise. The patients view you as another nurse, another doctor. They want nothing to do with you. But Will? Ah, Will, he treated me with respect. He spoke to me. Asked me about my day. Treated me like an equal. I feel like in different circumstances we could be friends.'

Alana stares at him. She feels rooted, caught. Matthew looks at her and shrugs.

'In different circumstances. Don't worry, Dr Bloom, I have no inclination of contacting him. And I couldn't blame him for wanting to stay well away from anyone associated with this hospital... except you.'

'Never minding the fact you're forbidden to make contact,' Alana murmurs.

Matthew waves his hand and nods. 'Obviously.'

Alana hesitates. Matthew gives another smile, and before he can move, she clears her throat.

'How's Rupert?'

Pausing, he turns, and cocks his head. 'Still eating table legs. Why?'

'I'll ask Will... to give you a call.'

Matthew smiles. 'Thank you, Dr Bloom.'

She can't leave fast enough. Turning, she hurries down the steps and to her car, tightening her coat around her.

*

Staring in the mirror, she turns and studies her back. The woman at the store had called it daring and yet on trend. Alana had just wanted to get out of there, and so she'd agreed to the purchase without thinking. But now, standing in her bathroom, she feels like one small breeze and she'll be naked. Hell, she feels naked already.

She can't figure out how the bra sits. Every time she lifts her arms, the bra rides up and her nipples peek out of the cut-out. Even when it sits flat, she can still see the soft pink of her areolae. Maybe with time she'll get used to, but it feels ridiculous. The panties, though, are even worse. They tie at the back, and every time she bends over, her entire backside is exposed. She guesses she's meant to feel sexy, but she knows she'll be worrying about the ribbon coming loose all night.

The colour _is_ flattering, though. The assistant had tried to sway her with black or red, but Alana felt both were too dark for such an occasion. The forest green suited her skin, but reminded her of jumpsuits. The rich purple she finally settled on seemed the best choice. It's lush and luxurious and gives her skin a bit of colour.

Giving one last twirl- okay, maybe the giant heart cut-out on her ass does show off her best asset- she finally rips everything off. Not tonight. She's not ready for it tonight. Tonight is about comfort.

Marching into her bedroom, she gives a quick look at the clock. Ten minutes. Throwing the stupid, ridiculous set of underwear into her bottom drawer to join her vibrator and the photos she had taken, she rummages through the rest of her drawers. 

The black and blue old faithful set will do. Not to mention she images Will will appreciate the familiarity. They've done her well up until now, and though she doesn't consider them lucky, she trusts the evening will go better if she's wearing something that makes her feel confident. She got through hell thanks to them. 

The waistband pinches her hips and her breasts spill from the cups, but as she passes a look in the bathroom mirror, she doesn't really mind. She feels more comfortable in this set up, as she throws her dress on, than the other lot. Will certainly appreciated them in image format; there's a chance he could wind up touching them, and even go so far as to take them off.

Not that she's really expecting much tonight. It's just meant to be dinner with Will and then a film. Probably even both, at the same time. But if anything else were to happen... well, she isn't adverse. She's actually the opposite.

Running a hand through her hair, she gave herself one final look before there was a knock on the door. She didn't need to count back from ten. She's ready.


End file.
